"dined" poems
How does it feel, walking the rainwashed streets without me ?
I hope your hand is comfortable in your pocket,
Or a hand you chose over mine.
On the dining table we never dined
"together", its warmth froze in my heart.
The soup always went cold
and I counted every single bean
Never seen, or tasted before .
I binned the beans and bid them farewell.
I went back to my cold bed
and felt my head explode
and felt my body twitch in need
Oh honey! Lest your soup go cold
Lest you count your beans.
I ate the trashed beans and beamed.
How could I trash the green of your eyes that spoke through the beans?
I think I'll leave the empty bed for sale
It's a free life in jail
without you in my veins.
With me in your dustbin
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 6:48 PM UTC
The emus formed a football team
Up Walgett way;
Their dark-brown sweaters were a dream
But kangaroos would sit and scream
To watch them play.
"Now, butterfingers," they would call,
And such-like names;
The emus couldn't hold the ball
- They had no hands - but hands aren't all
In football games.
A match against the kangaroos
They played one day.
The kangaroos were forced to choose
Some wallabies and wallaroos
That played in grey.
The rules that in the West prevail
Would shock the town;
For when a kangaroo set sail
An emu jumped upon his tail
And fetched him down.
A whistler duck as referee
Was not admired.
He whistled so incessantly
The teams rebelled, and up a tree
He soon retired.
The old marsupial captain said,
"It's do or die!"
So down the ground like fire he fled
And leaped above an emu's head
And scored a try.
Then shouting, "Keep it on the toes!"
The emus came.
Fierce as the flooded Bogan flows
They laid their foemen out in rows
And saved the game.
On native pear and Darling pea
They dined that night:
But one man was an absentee:
The whistler duck - their referee -
Had taken flight.
9.7k
a goat encounters a lion. normally the lion sees the goat as food. instead The Lion offers shelter warmth theo goat offered protection awkward that a four-legged hooved animal could protect the queen of the jungle protection together they stood both natural leaders both immature in the ways at the time neither wanted to back down from the other but that's what made it work despite the goats dexterity and natural stubbornness in his ways the lion SAT and ate with the goat. years and years they feast upon the golden ducks they collected at the rivers which they traveled odd as combination is professionals know that that is not even a combination amongst the food chain but fore a while they dined peacefully. the lion roared bloodthirsty the goat while being the loner the leader willfully back down from the lion scenario has a goat beat a lion. The goat couldn't bear the lion parting ways the goat be that as it may just wanted his own way but the goat has to learn sometimes the best win is to back off not every wall is meant to be broken especially that of a lion and her pride so the lion beautiful as ever smirked as if we were the prey and the goat knowingly put his head inside her mouth I'll let you tell it
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
Tiger, Tiger they all called him.
Faces marked with smiles grim.
Office buzzed with word tiger, tiger.
He was one but many they were.
Full day continued insincere flattery.
End of month 'twas, day for salary.
Then story took melodramatic turn.
Like tiger he moved, demeanor stern.
Outright he announced party that night.
Everyone attended in clothes bright.
They gossiped, danced and dined.
Happily they all boozed and wined.
He sat like a tiger circled by coterie;
And the total bill was half the salary.
I looked through magnifying glass;
And saw pack of wolves and an ***
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 6:32 AM UTC
Last night I dreamt I cohabitated with
Two beasts, both loved.
The one, a young lioness
The other a spry lamb
I had raised the both from infancy
But the lioness, who was then entering her adulthood began to size up the lamb.
And it occurred to me that in order to
save
the lamb from the lioness
That I must **** and eat it myself
It is the inescapable nature of a lion to
Hunt and ****
livestock
So while there was no scruple or problem for me to have these two animals,
They could not abide one another.
So I did it.
I slaughtered the lamb and cut it's flank and got at its tender meat
And I cooked it and served it with Marsala sauce and that night the lioness and I dined on the flesh of our old friend.
And I became aware eventually,
Between my ravenous gnawings at the meat
That the lioness was not eating.
She was
Staring fixedly
Directly at me.
She did not blink.
And I stopped feasting on the lamb.
And as I did I saw her eyes dilate
And she pounced across the table
And she gored me with her great claws
And split my gut and spilled my innards
And she ate me bit by bit still screaming
Still covered in Marsala sauce.
Before it was over I had but a breath in me and I cried,
"But why?!"
And I realized that it is the inescapable nature of the lion
To hunt and to ****
Not just livestock, not just lambs.
She had hunted and killed us both.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
I took Death out to dinner last night,
dressed up
in my favorite costume.
Dripping diamonds
and champagne tear-ducts--
I clogged my pores
with soggy make-up.
We wined and dined
and wore out our shoes--
I told him my secrets
He nodded and listened.
We shuffled down side-streets
and looked into mirrors--
I shivered in darkness
He drew me in nearer.
His body a bone-yard
Lovely but broken--
I heard his soft breath
I felt fingers stroking.
But crawling back homeward
Aching and tired--
We parted by day-fall
I watched him shrink inward.
With farewell promises
to meet again soon--
I swallowed the sunrise,
I cursed out the moon.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:05 PM UTC
A handy Mole who plied no shovel
To excavate his vaulted hovel,
While hard at work met in mid-furrow
An Earthworm boring out his burrow.
Our Mole had dined and must grow thinner
Before he gulped a second dinner,
And on no other terms cared he
To meet a worm of low degree.
The Mole turned on his blindest eye
Passing that base mechanic by;
The Worm entrenched in actual blindness
Ignored or kindness or unkindness;
Each wrought his own exclusive tunnel
To reach his own exclusive funnel.
A plough its flawless track pursuing
Involved them in one common ruin.
Where now the mine and countermine,
The dined-on and the one to dine?
The impartial ploughshare of extinction
Annulled them all without distinction.
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I
The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
'O lovely ***** O ***** my love,
What a beautiful ***** you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful ***** you are!'
II
***** said to the Owl, 'You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?'
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.
III
'Dear pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?'Said the Piggy,'I will.'
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.
4k
Women are always saying, why are there no good men out there anymore?
I say there are plenty of good men out there.
Good men with great qualities.
Might not look like Brad Pitt but strong enough to never quit.
You can't wait for a George Clooney you may go ******
You chose to go out on a date with that handsome man.
Who drives the fancy car and wears that fancy watch.
That handsome man wined you and dined you.
Took you back to his place where you ended up staying late.
You left in the early morning hour, heading home for a shower.
A few days have gone by, that handsome man never calls.
You're feeling sad and rejected, thats what handsome men do.
A good man would not have rejected you.
A good man who drives an old pickup truck.
Who worries when the rents do.
A good man working to make ends meet would sweep you off your feet.
Good men aren't hard to find.
Just open your eyes and you just might find.
That there are a few good men out there.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
So much talk about me; my dreams, my goals, my desires
So what then; when, how, who can realize the change I require?
My yesterday, my today, my future all entwined
My kids celebrate me, but have only wined and dined
Listen faintly, to a bit of my life’s story
As a colony of empires I was; my history!
I was birthed to treasure seeking hunters
Merely over-shadowing the fore-fathers
Merged and named after a flowing River from within
“Nigeria” was and is; Nineteen Hundred and Fourteen
I would have to call this, my naming ceremony
I sensed motley feelings; no empire, no colony
Crowned as the giant of Africa; behold, my birthday
Perhaps, this started the beginning of my future today?
Outdated assumptions; are the thrown away weights
Our economic growth the world watches and waits
Stop the whining yesterday; start an act today, and stand
All we have to do is look into ourselves, our hands
Overlook the past, create a change today, you and I can
Yes!, you, me; we all are “Nigeria’s Future”.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 10:43 AM UTC
I don't care any more
nor do i care any less
but i'm your lover, not your *****
and you're the reason for this mess
Parading your **** like you're in command
I have limits to your inane nonsense
I'm finally making my stand
No longer giving out to your reasons
I will stand tall, no matter what
Shape up and become a Man
Quit thinking below the waist
and treat me like I know you can
Empty vessels would clang the most
Never exercising the need to be humble nor coy
You're an underachiever with the penchant to boast
You were never a man, but a childish little boy
But, no matter what you have done or who you have become, i still see the passion within you
I see a pure love that we have created, one that is so true...
Although you have made many mistakes in the past
I am still sitting here willing to stick around for this love i know will last...
for ever and until the end
until they lay us six feet under
hand in hand as we die
i will be your lover
a lover to cherish the ground you walk on,
even when you stumble and shake,
i'll be your first in command,
because with you, there is too much at stake.
i want to be that lover,
who awaits in adoration of your arrival,
that one lover,
who loves you until our love is final.
I carved my chest and gave you this heart.
We flowed through the nile and overcame ocean tides.
A seed of bliss you planted in me and our love was born once more, leaving me scarred.
I thought you were proud and passionate but the truth was cloacked by your lies.
You dined with others while I recovered.
I resent you but appreciate the gift of new life that we have, this bond we share may never break,
for it's the only bond that makes us care.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
the ecosystem that young children
wake up on Tuesdays
before dawn to try & save
treading muddy gray roadsides
spiriting away cigarette butts
faded azure beer cans
thin shopping bag ghosts
with tiny gloved hands—
this cracking frost-heave
pavement landscape
is my body
my body is the first gasping crocus
the first chanting insects,
the first murdered fieldmouse
after waking
is the first meal
of a young owl,
all fluff and down and bone,
high in a skinny birch tree
and still a-feared of foxes
my body is hot loam
is fevered asphalt
is a feeding garden
& my soul…
my soul
is the beating sun,
undecayed, though tarnished
by weeks
maybe months
behind curtains of Winter
my soul separate
from my body
for so long…
and yet
it could have dined with God
and married His Daughter
before anyone thought to go looking
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC
fed the birds.
fed the birds a
book about
my dead
weight.
fed the
birds a heavy.
fed them from
my thin
hands. The words
that live.
The birds ate.
The birds ate words that
lived and always
lived
in
separate
houses. if...
and i mean if
and only if
they
could afford
it.
if these
clever pagans
ever had
a dime.
they found
it boring rich
folk to
death.
i fed the birds
my indigenous
nomads. they dined
in high style...
dined black and
fancy
on
shabby
addicts, as they
hopped
trains . i fed the birds
my
swarthy tribe.
and they supped.
i fed the birds
a monologue
with trains of
thought
the words i fed
them... the vagabonds...
hopped
trains.
of thought.
I fed
the birds.
i fed the birds just
outside.
i sat
and fed them
black light and Harmalade
fed them blackly
fed them with
piano keys; the black
ones, the ones
that radiate
i fed
i watched them. watched
them fancy peck. and peck
and fancy
pluck.
i watched. they dined
on serene defeat
by technicality.
it was surreal
to watch a blackbird
pluck from black
keys - peck
a morsel of glum
from
the black rays, yes.
the black rays with
opposable thumbs
and a
lifeline. the only one i
know forbidding gypsies
with three eyes.
an open
palm.
a paranoid
black radish
white dwarf star
with piano keys
for black rays
of
nimbus, yes
mine is the hand that bites the hand
that writes the book
it wants
to ban, that ain't
a fan
not at all. just an appendage. a pen dirge ? What ?
i fed the flock lots
I fed
the black ones -
with dolls'
eyes...
tucked
under
wing.
i fed them, yes.
a book
about the size
of any welcome
malcontent.
i fed
them sorrows
and ellipses with
adjacent lawns.
wutherings in
stately manors, squatting
on either side
of memory
lane, like
a bourbon and
coke had
practically crawled
across shards
of hard
things to break,
with a drink
in your
hand
and crawled, well blended
down the hatch
of enormous, well appointed
gothic frogs, that -
were mostly refurbished toads
with odd columns.
i fed
the birds,
broke out the
Good
Chi
na
hang the tantrums !
yes
One should expect
a rich metaphor to want to
watch you
eat it's every
word
or
by extension;
lick the toad with 15 rooms,
three stories, unfit for children
and a full staff
of Adjectives,
highly trained
to
short-sheet the Bedlam, and fluff the pillories.
one should sip the liqueur
off the floor, inside the huge
and tipsy
gorgon
and be thankful
for the dank
and
the solid gold flyswatters.
they're complementary. take one
as you leave out
thinking
" toads, eat flies.... so it follows...."
apropos of nothing, on the
' Good China ',
now in the belly of birds, well fed
an unwell.
a book about
my dead-weight's
dream
to eat fewer
flies and
more
steak.
to grow wings.
yes.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 11:23 AM UTC
*Reflections of Paris this morning , for all the inhabitants of the world , especially those inspired by beautiful works of art and architecture ! Those fortunate enough to have dined in world class eateries on cuisine prepared by Master Chefs , marveled over the downtown skyline high atop prominent monuments ! Impassioned lovers perusing her avenues , window shopping store fronts , boutiques along famous boulevards ! Senior couples recalling their yesteryears with great joy , frolicking , happy children playing in parklands , feeding songbirds with euphoria and curiosity , strolling walkways along the riverbank at Dusk with great wonderment and personal reflection
The poet and poetess , musician and thespian , ballet dancer and street performer .. To lovers young and old , the continued hope of gaiety and splendor at every turn !
She is lovely indeed , the Queen of all that is beautiful on this Earth* ..
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
I must begin with an apology, my friends
That I shed no tears for you when you passed
When I heard the news that you lived no more
That I did not ponder on your existence and ceasing thereof
When I continued with the ritual day to day
For this, I am truly sorry
I must continue with an apology, my friends
That I did not acknowledge the cancer in your bones
When you were still fighting, still breathing
That I put out of my mind even the thought of autocide
When your wife was left widowed, your children fatherless
For this, I am sincerely sorry
I must persist with an apology, my friends
That I did not wish to attend your funerals or memorials
When I was given an invitation and a chance
That I did not comfort the loved ones you left behind
When I dined in your homes with your memories
For this, I am truthfully sorry.
I must push on with an apology, my friends
That even now I cannot grieve for the loss of you
When I sit and write this poem with all left unsaid
That I still cannot bring myself to shed a tear, to weep
When I force myself to dwell on this tragedy
For this, I am earnestly sorry.
I must conclude with an apology, my friends
That I am still inhaling stale air, exhaling my ghost
When you have been torn from your families
That I can still ungratefully demand more than my lot
When your potential was cut down without my caring
For this, I am fervently sorry.
So, so sorry.
And yet I still do not cry.
h.f.m.
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 4:36 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, I don't know what that is?!-but yeah;]
believe me I don't know who 'you' is anymore to say
but you- never knew a label to you even before this May
okay the blue runs through the heart
but the adore you in the eyes once and for now been from the start
the golden table churned and dined
a whole new zoo other than butterflies you signed
remedy to the lost I fear this week six buried feet under
don't mind me in a stare just a wonder
------ravenfeels
Jun 17, 2021
Jun 17, 2021 at 6:49 PM UTC
I want to fall with a Poetress
Not a girl but a woman that can match my intellect.
She can cook and clean but is far from domesticated.
Need a ghetto queen like Latifah
I'm from the hood baby I can handle a skillet.
Let's split it
You cook the rice I make the chicken
A woman that understands it all from politics to religion
She fights for her rights
And some nights she doesn't want to lay she wants to ride
Never ask for nothing but is willing to die
Living for the moment
Like of our live is being directed by Nick Cassavetes
A Poetress I promise to keep smiling
Like a woody Allen movie
And if I sell my soul
I'll be Adam and she Lilith
I want to fall in love with a Poetress
That argues with me metaphorically
Poetic in her actions
When she threatens to leave me
A goddess with words and she let's me hear it
A woman I can open up like a book
And let's me eat in her living room
One that can bear baby Jesus and the anti Christ if God decides
My match
My one on one
Wether I have a bible or a ski mask
Much more than superficial beauty
But if I had to choose
She'll be Patron white with a Henny ***
Don Pergion for a mouth,
she speaks class
1880 aged wine for her mind
Her thoughts are dined
I want to fall in love with a Poetress
Who understand cutlery
But loves bacon and burger beef
A goddess of poetry
Would be the only one right for me
I want to fall in love with a Poetress
And the search begins
your majesty.....
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 3:32 PM UTC
We once dined together on goodly tables
and laughed together at funny fables.
Me was 'us'
back then when the fields were green
Love was the boss
we cared not who was the lord
as long as he could our peace afford.
Time grew taller
and bonding cords grew shorter
our once glittering tables
Decomposed on beign fed upon by unhealthy fables.
Like little foxes
forces of grudges and sentiment arising from resentment crept in
and the bond we once shared was threatened.
Those cherished days are long forgotten
relics of our lost bond keep us hurting
A little 'sorry' would have let it go
but it wasn't in the tune of our ego.
Regrets like matchets cut our hearts deep leaving wounds that time's woo can't recuperate.
rays of hope
make us cope
knowing someday someway we'll return to the land
Where 'me was we' and 'his was us.'
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 11:47 PM UTC
I'll hold a light for you forever
I'll lock this up
Hide it forever
But I will weep
As you have never been mine to keep
Even when we have dined and laugh at life with each other
I see behind
That smile
I'm not yours
Your not mine
Even when we have made love
Our bodys intertwine
and we both have weeped
As time stood still
In that loving moment
I still wish you the very best
And that all the world see the great hairs on your chest
Giggle
That I love so much
Yet you hate so dearly
I still will hold a light in the dark for you
I still walk in the park thinking of you
I still miss you
Should I have stayed and thought it
Thorough
Should I change just for you
No
No one should change if love is true
Time to let go
Time
Time in where another love is lost
It's time
I will wish you love
I will wish you hope
I will hold a light for you forever
I say goodbye
I let go
Time
Forever x
Natasha ***
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 7:37 AM UTC
Down
Down,
Through the sulfurous haze,
Dante stumbled,
Lost in a
Fiery
Maze
Is this hell or a hammer film set
He asked himself,
Grinning with regret
A demon
Dressed in tattered lace,
With
Fangs and makeup,
A boneyard
Face
"Welcome to the pit, where
Sin abide
And
Dracula's got a VIP ride
The first circle
Fog and gloom
Looking for a friendly face,
I hope to find one soon
Next the gluttons,
Oh what a feast,
A banquet of souls
That never ceased
The brimstone smoked,
And ghosts of
Sinners,
Just happily joked
"Is this hell or a cryptic comedy?"
Dante laughed, lost in absurdity
The third,
greedy souls did cry,
Stuck in the mud,
Can't buy a thing
To
Satisfy
The Sinners dined in darkness,
Yet they slept
Until Dante shouted
"This is the wrong set"
So down to the deepest depths,
Where bat's flapped
And twisted,
Dante's glasses
Got slightly
Misted
But in the end
Dante found a seat,
In hells own cinema
Complete with a
Treat
A demon with a smile,
Made popcorn pop
And said
"You're in for a shock"
Dante sat back with his eternal snack,
And watched
As the credits rolled
"I'm never coming back"
Apr 26, 2025
Apr 26, 2025 at 6:05 AM UTC
the traveler makes song
heard in many places, rising,
ending like tree top disappearing
into low living cloud.
he knows our uncertainty,
clothed in the
vain gold authority
of hard men,
bent as the tree
and harder yet to please.
i have dined with the traveler
many times.
at opulent table sitting
foreign and small.
in the bowels
of the wood where his
song rang the sweetest.
in the tempest of a kitchen
table, a sudden swift storm.
i struggle with the lyric
of his song, so vast, so simple.
in language sharp and clean,
that speaks to us this one true
thing:
love only; the you as the i
and that which is above all else.
Sep 19, 2025
Sep 19, 2025 at 4:52 AM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 1:20 PM UTC
A Life of Humble Humility
The creator and ruler of the entire universe so powerful and so great, wanted a relationship with his people and loved them so much that he would leave heaven to be with them. He was concieved by a very ordinary ****** girl no older than 13 or 14, was born in a stable with pigs, oxen, and donkeys where it was cold, dark, and smelled very bad. Throughout his 20's, he ate and dined and held the company of prostitutes, tax collectors, uneducated fishermen, bad men, and unclean people. He did things that few could believe and none could explain and often did not take credit for these things. He took time to pray, ask for help and to rest, but was always ready to help those in need. He lived a life of service, of love, compassion, prayer and healing. When he rode into Jerusalem at the age of 33 on a Sunday, the king and ruler of everything came in on a donkey; a pack animal and lowly beast of burden of peasants rather than a horse or camel more fitting of his royalty and status. A week later, he was falsely accused and, though found not guilty, was condemned to be flayed till he was near death and then forced to carry a heavy piece of wood through town, beaten, mocked, spit upon and publicly humiliated to be nailed by his hands and feet to die in the most painful, brutal way imaginable. He was obedient to his father's plan and will to the very end and gave everything so that he might have a relationship with his beloved children.
Lord, help us please to love as you loved, serve as you served, to live as you lived. In a society that focuses on competition, personal gain and success even at the expense of another; send your Holy Spirit to be with us as we try to live by the example you have set for us: a life of humble humility. Whatever success we have, help us remember that it is from you or you working in and through us. As we strive to serve each other and you in a way that honors you and gives you glory, fill our hearts a with joy and peace that only you can provide! AMEN.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 12:26 PM UTC
There was an old person of Dean,
Who dined on one pea, and one bean;
For he said, 'More than that,
Would make me too fat,'
That cautious old person of Dean.
1.7k